COUNTERSTRIKE
“Mary, who is that woman?” John whispered, so the other passengers wouldn’t hear.
“Which woman?” Mary looked up from her phone, where she was busy messaging a friend.
“Over there… By the last window. She can’t stop staring at us. It’s like she hasn’t got any shame.”
Mary stood slightly to get a better view of the woman John had noticed. Her expression shifted immediately, though she quickly composed herself, shrugging indifferently.
“I have no idea.”
“Don’t lie,” John said irritably. “I saw your face change when you spotted her. Who is she?”
“She’s my mum,” Mary hesitated briefly before deciding it was better to tell the truth, just in case.
“Your mum?” John was taken aback. “You always said your mum wasn’t around.”
“And that’s still true.”
“I don’t get it,” John examined Mary’s face with curiosity. “Care to explain?”
“Let’s discuss this at home…”
“And you’re not even going to say hello? Does she live here, in our town?”
“John, I beg you, let’s talk at home…,” Mary pleaded, her eyes growing misty with tears.
“Fine,” John snapped and turned toward the window, clearly upset.
Mary didn’t try to soothe him. In truth, she was relieved to be left alone, at least for a bit. However, peace was far from her mind, lost as she was in memories from childhood…
Mary had no memory of her father. From what her mum had said, he was a “terrible” man.
But her mum often mentioned how lucky Mary was to have a wonderful stepdad. Mary remembered him from around the age of eight, though she never understood what was so wonderful about him. He was rough, mean, and stingy. “Why does Mum love him so much?” young Mary wondered, hiding in a corner to avoid Uncle Peter’s gaze. He never hit her or openly insulted her. But he also never treated her as a person, not once calling her by name, looking right through her as though she were invisible.
If he talked about Mary to her mum, it sounded something like this:
“The girl’s a nuisance…”
“Your daughter is ruining my peace…”
“Tell her she’s too young to be hanging out with boys.”
“Have you seen her report card? I’m ashamed she lives in my house!”
“In his house! What about the fact it’s my mum’s flat?!” teenage Mary often thought. She remembered how they moved in after her grandmother died.
Once, after hearing him call it “his house” for the thousandth time, Mary couldn’t hold back any longer and retorted:
“It’s you who’s living in our home! If you don’t like it, leave! No one will miss you!”
Her stepdad rushed toward her, as if to silence her, but stopped at the last moment. He turned sharply to his wife and forced out through clenched teeth:
“Make sure I don’t see her again!”
Her mum grabbed her hand, dragging Mary out of the room, saying, “Of course, my dear, everything will be as you wish…”
She always looked at him as though he were divine, obeyed without question, catered to him, spoke in a sugary voice, and tried her best to satisfy him.
Why? Mary couldn’t understand. But she knew one thing for sure: if her stepdad wished it, her mum would kick her out without hesitation.
“What got into you?” her mum hissed at Mary that day. “Don’t you dare speak to your father like that!”
“He’s not my father!” Mary shouted. “And he never will be!”
“That’s beside the point! He provides for you, clothes you, and this is how you repay him… ungrateful!”
“I never asked to be born!” Mary cried through tears. “Or to be raised here! You should have given me away to someone who wouldn’t mind!”
“You think I didn’t try?” her mum retorted. “But no one would take you! And your father ran off as soon as you were born! You’ve ruined my life!”
Hearing these words from her mum filled Mary with loathing. She pushed her aside and ran out of the house. No one chased after her. The week she stayed away, no one even checked on her.
Mary was only fifteen…
What could she do? Nothing. Her friends hosted her for a few days each, but it was no long-term solution. She had to go back.
Mary shakily unlocked the front door…
“You’ve returned?” was her mum’s only acknowledgment. “Stay in your room until I call for you…”
“She must have convinced him,” Mary thought, sneaking back to her room.
From that day on, her stepdad acted as if Mary didn’t exist. Mary knew they had decided something about her and were just waiting for her to finish school.
And she wasn’t mistaken. As soon as she got her diploma, her mum hinted that it was time for her to prepare for independence.
“Once you hit eighteen, you’re on your own,” her mum declared and fell silent again.
Mary considered her options and decided to apply to university. First, she’d spare her family her presence, and second, she’d get accommodation as an out-of-town student. That’s five years of housing…
Mary didn’t get into the university. Or rather, she did, but it was a paid course. She knew no one would pay for her education, but she still informed them:
“Mum, congratulate me. I got into university.”
Her mum looked at her with indifference:
“And?”
“Well, I need to pay for tuition… It’s not much…”
“Don’t even think about it. Not a penny for your silly whims! Haven’t your father and I invested enough in you already?! All you’ve done is get on our nerves! And now we have to pay for your studies?!”
“Sorry. Of course, you don’t have to,” Mary replied. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”
“Exactly. You need to start looking for a place.”
“But Mum, how will I pay for it?”
“Get a job. You think you can just go to school? You’ve got a month, and then you’re out.”
“A month isn’t long enough,” Mary tried to plead. “Could I stay a little longer? Maybe six months?”
“Six months? Absolutely not. I barely got your father to put up with your presence. Besides, we planned renovations. Your room will become a bedroom. So, a month, no more…”
So Mary rented a place. It was more of a tiny shed in someone’s backyard. No amenities. Just a stove. But it was cheap…
When she left her family home, her mum handed her a fork, spoon, plate, mug, table knife, and a small pot. After a moment, she added a towel and an old set of sheets.
“Here, take these,” she said, hiding her eyes and handing Mary a small package. “Good luck, sweetheart. I hope you’ll understand me someday.”
“Thank you, Mum,” Mary replied. “Can I come for my winter clothes later?”
“Don’t leave it too long, or you might not find them here…”
“Would you really throw them away?”
“Not me, but your dad might not like it. You understand…”
“I understand,” Mary hugged her mum. “Well, I better get going…”
And so, at eighteen, Mary entered the world on her own. With her mum’s blessing…
The money her mum gave her just about lasted until the first paycheck. Mary scrimped every penny, even walking to work instead of using transport.
When she received her first paycheck, Mary felt rich! She bought grains and pasta in bulk, a bottle of oil, and a whole sack of potatoes. She still needed shampoo, soap, toothpaste…
After buying the essentials, she counted her remaining money, put a little aside in a pretty envelope, and resolved: slowly but surely, she’d save for her own place.
She visited her mum about a month later, thinking her mum would be pleased to see her and to retrieve her warm clothes, as summer had ended and it was getting chilly.
A young man opened the door.
“Hi there, got the wrong door?” he asked cheerfully.
“Actually, I’m here to see my mum,” Mary said, puzzled.
“Oh… You must be Mary? Come in. She’s not here, but you can wait.”
“I will,” Mary said firmly, making her way to the kitchen.
The young man tried to start a conversation, but one look from Mary and he beat a retreat.
Her mum arrived, not particularly pleased by her presence. When Mary inquired about the young man, her mum explained:
“That’s David, my husband’s son from his first marriage.”
“And why is he living with you? Weren’t you planning renovations?”
“It’s just temporary. Once he gets a job and settled, he’ll move out.”
“I see,” Mary said. “I’ve taken my shoes and jacket…”
“Take everything. I’m tired of shifting it around,” her mum replied.
“When could it have gotten tiring? I’ve only been gone two months.”
“Don’t be smart with me,” her mum snapped. “Just take everything this time.”
“You’re not even going to ask how I am?”
“I’m not interested,” her mum clearly didn’t want to talk with David around.
“Not surprised,” Mary said, heading for the door…
“Want a hand?” David offered, emerging from nowhere. “That’s a huge bag to carry.”
“I’ll manage,” Mary replied and left…
A couple of months later, she returned for her winter coat. Again, David opened the door. This time, her mum was home. When Mary asked:
“Is he still here?” her mum exploded:
“That’s none of your business! He’ll stay here as long as he likes! After all, he’s here for his father!”
“And I was here for my mum,” Mary shot back. “But that didn’t save me.”
“You can’t compare! It’s different!”
“How is it different?” Mary asked firmly. “What’s the difference?”
“I don’t have to explain myself to you!” her mum shouted. “This is my house, and I decide who lives in it.”
“I see.”
“What do you see?!”
“That a stranger means more to you than your own daughter,” Mary said steadily, her calm rattling her mum.
“I don’t have a daughter!” her mum declared. “And David—he’s the son of my beloved man! He’s more than a son to me!”
“Congratulations,” Mary responded, seeing her mum as a stranger. “In that case, I have no mother.”
She left, certain it was for good.
For four years, Mary stayed away. She didn’t call or visit.
And now, here was this meeting…
While lost in thought, Mary hadn’t noticed her mum get up and approach her. John stood up, giving her his seat.
“Hello,” Mary heard the familiar voice, one she tried so hard to forget.
“Hi,” she managed in reply.
“And who’s this?” Her mum nodded toward John.
“My husband.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thanks.”
“We’re doing well too. Your stepdad’s working, and David’s found a lovely, gentle girl. They’re getting married in a month. And I’m going to be a grandmother soon. Such joy! We’ve already decided to use your room for the child. Started redecorating. Got the best children’s wallpaper. And we’re planning to get a place in the countryside. Fresh air, you know. Looking for something affordable but with a liveable house and a stream or lake nearby.”
Mary listened to the stranger’s monologue, perplexed as to why this woman was sharing her life story.
“How long have you been married?”
“Two years,” Mary replied on autopilot.
“Thinking about kids?”
“Our son is nearly a year old.”
“Then I have a grandson?”
“You?” Mary finally turned to her mum.
“Me,” her mum stammered briefly, “you’re my daughter.”
“You’ve got it mixed up, lady. My mum passed away four years ago…”
Her mum turned pale. She stood, moved toward the exit without saying another word.
Mary turned toward the window, feeling no regret for… that woman.
John had watched the interaction, listening intently. It dawned on him: they were complete strangers!
And he resolved not to question Mary about the past. It seemed too daunting to delve into…
